


Last Looks

by kikiwrites



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, No beta we kayak like Tim, S3 spoilers, jon quits, jonmartin is in there, post episode 154, this is sad im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:14:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25733428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikiwrites/pseuds/kikiwrites
Summary: Jon decides to quit the institute alone, but he wants a few last good sights to remember.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 15
Kudos: 115





	Last Looks

Jon knew what he had to do. The sting of Martin’s rejection turned to solid resolve. First though… first he needed to go back to his office. 

He stopped in the doorway and just… looked. He took in everything. The disarray of his desk that made perfect sense to him- the paperclip under the red book, the ibuprofen bottle full of hair ties and bobby pins in the same drawer as his rib. The tape recorders, identical by appearance but as distinct as human beings to him. The shelves of statements that still called to him no matter how hard he clamped down on the hunger. The one photo hung on the wall by someone, probably Tim, of the original archival team at a nearby pub after their first week on the job. They all looked so young and alive in that picture. He could hardly bring himself to look at the woman who was not Sasha with an arm thrown around Tim, smiling too brightly in a way Jon hadn’t seen since Prentiss. Martin… it hurt to look at him too, the soft smile and kind eyes behind round glasses a little too big for his face. And himself. Unscarred, clean cut hair, scowling as ever, yet still deep down happy. Happy as he had ever been, and ever would be. 

That was the image he wanted to remember of his time here. When Archivist was just a job, when he didn’t wake up scratching away invisible worms. When they all still smiled. Still lived. He filed away that image in his head and left his office behind.

He took a quick walk through the rest of the institute. He wasn’t sure he wanted to remember the place in too much detail, but he felt obligated. He took a little extra time in the library he’d spent too many late nights in. The precise organization, the muted colors of the old times stored in its shelves. He passed by the research offices he’d first come into, no clue where his new position would lead him but hungry for knowledge nonetheless. On the way out, he waved to Rosie at the front desk. Her greeting held far less warmth than before. Perhaps the knowledge of what he was had spread to her. Or maybe Peter Lukas and the Lonely had a grip on her too. He tried to forgot the dull look in her eyes as he stepped onto the streets of London.

He knew it wasn’t safe for him to spend much time alone outside the Institute’s walls, yet he wanted to take a moment to remember London. It was growing dark, the sun was low enough to leave traces of deep pink and purple along the horizon. He didn’t remember the last time he’d seen a sunset. The sight brought a curl to his lip that was nearly a smile.

The sidewalk was less busy than usual- a small blessing. He felt the pull of a person who had a story, an encounter with the desolation. The demanding hunger but at him, but he thought of Daisy listening to the quiet. There was no quiet, not when the static filled his ears, but there was a sunset. He traced the swirls of color with his eyes, counted the stars that had faintly appeared, and eventually, the static faded.

This was the London he wanted to remember, cast in evening glow, quietly bustling with the last of people leaving work. He committed it to memory. Every building, every little business he’d once frequented. His mind made a map that he hoped would linger when he didn’t have the beholding to intensify his memory.

He walked further from the institute than he’d wanted to, stalling and he knew it. The last of the sunset hues disappeared below the buildings, leaving stars and the moon in their wake. London didn’t have many clear nights, so he took this in too. He Knew what constellations were present, which stars were really the distant glow of planets, the next time a meteor shower would pass over the city (not for a quite a while, he was sad to know). As more Knowledge slipped into his head unbidden, the hex code for the color of each fake flower in the book shop’s window, the expiration date of the second jug of milk in the cafe’s refrigerator, he knew he had to go back. 

His body seemed to fight him going back to the Institute. The Beholding had to know what he was planning by now. It only made sense it would fight back. 

He wished he had more time. He wanted to see Georgie again. He wanted to see the Admiral, remember the exact patterns of color in his fur. He wanted to see Daisy and Basira and even Melanie, but they were long tucked away in the tunnels, and he knew better than to disturb them now.

He didn’t want to see Martin. No- that was a lie. He wanted to see Martin more than he wanted any memories of the layout of his office or a clear London night. He didn’t want the pain of seeing him at a distance again, knowing he got the timing all wrong, that he missed a chance at something good, and would never be able to make things truly right. 

He found himself outside of Martin’s office. It seems his feet had made the decision for him. Through the slit of a window, Jon could see Martin hunched over his desk, studying a statement of Adelard Dekker. His glasses were still a little too big for his face. They slid down his face even as he scrunched his nose to keep them up. His eyes were sharper than they’d been before the Unknowing, all of him was really. Under it all, Jon could still see the kind man he was. The one he loved.

Jon hadn’t noticed Martin get up, not until the door swung open.

“What are you doing, Jon?” Martin snapped.

“Nothing,” Jon said distantly, too busy taking in his last look at Martin. His red curls stuck out at odd angles, the light dusting of freckles on his cheeks, the warm brown of his eyes, the softness of his body, even with all the new angles that came from working under Oeter Lukas.

“You know you can’t be here,” Martin said. “So what are you doing?”

“I- I was just leaving.” Jon shrugged. “Just… came to say goodbye.”

Martin huffed, half annoyed and half amused. It was a good last look at him. “Goodnight Jon.”

Jon took a long breath and let it out. “Goodbye, Martin.”


End file.
